


Never be Mummy Again

by Sherlock1110



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Aftercare, Big Brother Mycroft, Cane, Cuddles, Gen, Kidlock, Paddle, Protective Big Brother Mycroft, Punishment, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-09
Updated: 2015-10-09
Packaged: 2018-04-25 15:41:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4966663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sherlock1110/pseuds/Sherlock1110
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mummy's best vase was smashed and the boys get the blame, what happens when Mrs. Hudson reveals the truth?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Never be Mummy Again

**Author's Note:**

> I was in the mood to right some sad kidlock but it's ok, Mycroft's there!
> 
> Beta read by sherlockian4evr
> 
> I know this is a very strict punishment but Mrs. Holmes is very angry. I do not condone this blah blah blah especially on cute little Sherlock.

"Sherlock, you need to think things through," Mycroft pointed out as he removed his little brother's bishop and replaced it with his knight. 

Sherlock scowled at the board and was ready to kick it across the room; however, his brother had patience in abundance, something he had only recently acquired and only acquired it because of his baby brother. 

Sherlock stood up and Mycroft copied at the exact same moment. He reached out and placed a hand on his shoulder. More recently, Mycroft had been the only one who could control the younger boy's temper. Neither of them quite knew how it worked, but they were almost as grateful as their parents were. 

"It is just a game, 'Lock." 

He took a deep shaky breath, aware he was being a bit of a muppet, but he couldn't help himself. "I know, but you always win."

He reached up a bit further and ruffled his errant curls, something else only Mycroft seemed to be able to get away with. "I'm older Sherlock, and been playing this game a lot longer. Now sit back down."

His knees gave way beneath him and he collapsed back in his seat. 

"Try again, 'Lock." The older brother moved his last piece back to where it had been and placed his bishop back on the board. "Think it through this time."

The chess board went flying when the door swung open and in stormed Mrs. Holmes. 

"Bedrooms. Right now!"

"Mother-" Mycroft started, only to be cut off by her pointed look. 

"Rooms, boys. Go!"

Mycroft grabbed his little brother's hand and tugged him towards the stairs. "What's happening, Myc?"

"I don't know, baby brother. Mother isn't happy about something."

"I don't want to go in my own room."

Mycroft smiled at him sadly and ruffled his curls with the hand that wasn't already holding him tight. "Come in here then, little one."

Sherlock grinned as the older Holmes boy opened his bedroom door and helped him up onto the bed. 

"What's going to happen?"

"Depends what's she thinks we've done."

"I haven't done anything. Have you done anything?"

"No, but you seem to find trouble like a moth to a flame."

"Honestly, Myc. I mean, what could I have done? We've been in the games room."

"You make a valid point, little brother."

Even Mycroft flinched when the door swung open. 

"Mycroft, go and get-" she spotted Sherlock. "Very well, you'll both stand in the corner, hands on your heads while you think about what you've done."

Slowly both boys made their way to separate corners. "Mummy," Sherlock started tentatively. "What are we supposed to be thinking about?" If they knew, they'd know for sure whether they had been causing trouble or not.

"Don't play dumb William, you know it doesn't work for you!"

"But, Mummy-" 

"Enough!" She barked. Sherlock always hated how their mother was the disciplinarian in the family. Father only ever took an interest in punishment if they had done something to let each other down or if they did something dangerous. He was the one that gave out cuddles by the hundred and he was the one Sherlock always went to when he got home from school and he wasn't at work. 

At this point, Mycroft wasn't worried for himself. He was worried for Sherlock. Mother was pacing with the cane and he was only 10. He looked over to his little brother who was biting his bottom lip, something he always did when he was nervous, but trying not to show it. Mycroft had been on the receiving end of the cane once or twice and it was never good. Even then, his mother had never been this mad. 

"Which one of you broke it?" She demanded as they both faced the wall, arms aching from being raised so long. 

Neither of her boys replied and she sighed heavily. She didn't enjoy punishing them, but when it had to be done, she detached herself from the dotting mother and made sure they learnt whatever lesson was needed, whichever way possible. "Alright Sherlock, you are always claiming to be just as big as Mycroft. You can go first. You'll have a warm up with the hairbrush and then 12 strokes. Mycroft will have the same." She really was incredibly angry. 

Mycroft spun round. "Mother, please-"

"Silence, Mycroft! Equal is equal."

"He is only 10!"

"And I caned you when you were 10! Now be quiet."

He had indeed been caned when he was 10, but it wasn't 12 strokes and he hadn't been hit with the brush first. 

"You will watch this, Mycroft. Let it be a lesson to you before you receive yours. If you had come to me when you broke it, it would have just been the paddle."

Broke what? He knew there was no point in arguing, even as his little brother had stoically lowered his pants and had folded over the end of his bed, his head resting in his arms. 

"You will get 20 with the brush."

"Yes, Mummy," Sherlock muttered into the sheets. 

Mycroft glanced at the brush she had. It wasn't the horrid one with ridges on, just the plain boring one that was usually kept in the bottom drawer. That was slightly better, but it would still hurt, though.

She wouldn't hit him hard with it, not like she intended to for Mycroft, but the same punishment would make the blame equal. She found herself almost feeling proud when her youngest boy remained stoically quiet throughout the first 15 strikes with the brush. He had his face buried so far into the mattress, she doubted she would be able to hear him even if he was making noise or complaining. She delivered the last 5 evenly, careful not to cause too much overlapping. He should think himself lucky she hadn't and wasn't going to pull his pants down for this. 

It seemed to happen all too quickly for Sherlock. There was a burning sensation across his entire bum. He'd been paddled with the brush before, but not like this. He tasted blood where he'd bit into his lip too hard. He only just heard the sound of the brush being placed on the unit, but that meant-

The cane came down and Sherlock yelped into the sheet. Ow! He clenched his teeth around Mycroft's thick duvet cover. He had a horrible feeling this would feel better if he knew what he'd - they'd done wrong. At least then it would feel more justified on his mother's behalf. 

On the fourth strike of the cane, Sherlock burst into tears. His hands curled in on themselves again and again around Mycroft's sheet. "Mummy, p-please! Please, M-mummy!"

At that point, Mycroft stepped in, his resolve crumbling at the state of his little brother. "Mother- stop!" Instead of stopping she lowered the cane again, causing Sherlock to Yelp. "It was me!" Mycroft yelled. "Mummy it was me. Please don't-"

"It was you!" she spun on her eldest son. "You smashed my vase! And you let me cane him!" 

"Let you… Mummy, I didn't think you would go through with it. He is only 10." His eyes flickered to Sherlock whose hands were balled into fists in the duvet cover. He seemed to have missed the reason why she had stopped landing the cane on his backside or the reason they were being punished in the first place. He was in too much pain to recognise the lie right now anyway. 

"Sherlock." She said, back to Sherlock again. That was good at least. "Darling, stand up. You're going to watch your brother take his punishment." 

"P-please, Mummy-" he whimpered. Tears were streaming down his face. All he wanted was Mycroft and a hug, not watch him be caned for something they both knew he didn't do. 

"No, Sherlock. You will watch to prove that Mycroft will pay the consequences for putting you through that-"

"He didn't put me through that! You did!" He sobbed. 

"Enough William! You both had fair warning. It is not my fault your brother has selfish intentions!"

Mycroft bit his lip to keep quiet and watched warily as Sherlock moved stiffly from the bed. 

"It wasn't Mycroft who broke it, Mummy," Sherlock said. "It was me."

She glared at him. "Is that a lie, Sherlock?"

He didn't answer. He couldn't work out what would be the right one. "Corner," she ordered. "Mycroft, bend over the end of the bed."

Mycroft had remained stoically silent throughout the whole ordeal, much like Sherlock, but he didn't open his mouth at the cane either, even when he had to lower his pants and mummy hit him harder with the hairbrush than Sherlock. He couldn't work out whether that was because he was older or it was him in the 'wrong'. The cane had also come down hard and not just 12, but 15 strokes on naked flesh. It had bloody hurt! He watched his mother go with deep heart-felt resentment. A feeling he should never experience towards his mother. 

"It wasn't you Myc. Why did you do that?" Sherlock asked quietly. He had waited until their mother had left without a sound and then rushed over and grabbed Mycroft around the waist. He was careful not to touch his backside. Even from where his hands were, he could feel how hot and no doubt bruised he was. 

Mycroft didn't respond straight away and Sherlock tugged at his shirt. "Myc?"

"It's Mycroft, William," he spat. "Mycroft! Not Myc!"

His little brother took a step back, eyes wide and wet. He saw the hardness his brother's face had changed to and raced off in the direction of his bedroom. 

"Sherlock?!" He called out, but the door slammed. He sighed and ran his hand over his face. He hadn't meant to snap at him and he couldn't even flop onto his bed in a sulk, given how well his mother had dished out the spanking. 

At 9:30, Mycroft heard the tell-tale sounds of his father's footsteps on the stairs and immediately panicked. It was rather early for him to be home on a Thursday. He was face down on his bed, the only comfortable position he could find and still be able to do something constructive. He hadn't gone after Sherlock, although he wished he had. He may have had a worse caning, but he was 17. Sherlock was only 10 and anything with the cane at that age was harsh. 

There was a sharp knock on the door, but he didn't get the chance to call 'enter' as his father stormed in. Mr. Holmes tended to be the more kind hearted of their parents and the punishments were always dished out by their mother. The only thing he got angry about was letting family down or endangering themselves, and in his parents' eyes, that was exactly what he had done 

"Father. Good evening."

The usual snuggly father was gone and replaced by the stern father that Mycroft had only ever seen once before and that was when he had taken Sherlock down to the shed and helped him build a bonfire when the younger one was 3 and a half. He had been nagging for a very long time and, in the end, 10 year old Mycroft had caved and helped him out. 

"Your mother phoned and told me she had to punish you first for smashing her vase, then lying and then allowing your brother to be caned."

"She caned him! Not me! He's 10!"

"Enough!" His father snapped, tone sharp. "Now I'm going to go and check on your brother. I will be back and you'll be going over my knee."

"But father, I've already had the hairbrush and the cane."

"That was for breaking your mother's priceless vase. This is for allowing your little brother to be punished as well."

He returned not even 5 minutes later. Mycroft didn't know whether to be happy or sad at that. He wanted it out of the way, but at the same time he was already super sore. 

"It appears he cried himself to sleep, fully clothed. What did you say to him when your mother left?"

"Nothing!" Mycroft growled. He couldn't believe how this had been blown out of proportion and it wasn't helped by the guilt he felt for snapping at Sherlock. It hadn't been his fault their mother had jumped to the wrong conclusions. It also wasn't his fault that he'd stepped in and taken the blame. 

"I'm going to make this quick," Mr. Holmes anounced sitting at the elder son's desk. "Pants down. Over my lap."

"Father-"

"You are also grounded for a month."

Mycroft sighed. "Yes, sir."

He made himself as comfortable as possible on the older man's lap. 

"You can have 20 with my hand and no dessert for as long as you're grounded, or 40 and dessert. Your choice, son."

If this was the only physical punishment he was receiving he would have gone for 40, because even though his father's hand was tough, dessert was totally worth it, especially Mrs. Hudson's cakes, but he was already sore and he was already going to bruise, seeing as zero was not an option; "20."

"Very well." 

Mr. Holmes ignored the marks made by his wife and moved swiftly onto his own element of punishment. His wife had done a good job. The entire area of his backside was red and there were clear stripes from where the cane had landed each time. By 5 strokes of his hand Mycroft was sobbing uncontrollably and he felt his heart give out to his son, but the thought of his youngest receiving such a strict punishment for a crime he hadn't commuted forced him to continue. It was harsh of Mrs. Holmes and he would more than likely bring it up with her. Even if he had broken the vase, the hairbrush and the cane was a lot for a 10 year old. 

"All done," he told the trembling boy. He softly rubbed at his lower back, but Mycroft apparently didn't want the comfort he was offering. He struggled off his lap and fell face first onto his bed, wrapping his arms around his pillow. That was odd. He was usually extremely apologetic and humble after a punishment and sat on his lap sobbing or sniffing occasionally. Never had he ever moved away at the first opportunity. He followed him over to the bed and ruffled his hand through his hair. "You took that very well. I trust you will never let your brother take the blame again."

There was a muffled noise that sounded something like. "No, sir," but he was incredibly upset. He didn't want to make him repeat it. "Good. Well, I'll see you in the morning."

Mycroft just tightened his grip on his pillow and turned into the wall. 

Not even a minute after his father's footsteps had faded was there a knock on the door. "Come in, Sherlock," he called softly. 

A very young looking 10 year old who was crying a fair bit himself appeared. In his hand was his teddy that he carried everywhere by the arm. 

"Mycroft? I heard father yelling. Are you alright?" He was being incredibly cautious, the way he stood there hovering unsure. It was a very unsherlock like thing for the younger boy to do and Mycroft felt the pit in his stomach get larger by the second. He had seen the look in his eyes when Mrs. Holmes had stopped. He had been terrified for his older brother and all he had received for that was Mycroft snapping at him. Despite his punishment being a lot more intense, the age difference and experience meant that Sherlock's was a lot lot worse. 

"Come on up, little brother," he tried to make his smile reassuring but it felt fake and judging my Sherlock's hesitance it looked it too. 

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have shouted at you." 

He still didn't move, in fact he seemed more inclined to head back towards his own room. 

"'Lock? Please come in," Mycroft pleaded. The one thing worse than being caned… his brother looking so small, scared, lost and innocent. 

"My name's William."

"That's what you're upset about."

"Only mother calls me William and I hate it. I never thought you were like her." He really was mad, Mycroft realised that was the first time he had ever called her mother, it had always been 'mummy'. 

"I'm not like her Sherlock, mother calls you William because that is the name she gave you."

"Father calls me Sherlock."

"That is because that is what he wanted you to be called, but mother won the choice of your name because he had choice of mine."

Sherlock scowled and headed back towards his bedroom. Mycroft ran after him, the stretch of his skin painful where it was different shades of red. 

"I couldn't bear to see you hurt," Mycroft said softly when he caught Sherlock by the arm at his bedroom door. "I'm sorry I called you William. You're right. I know you dislike it and it wasn't right for me to be mad with you. You are, after all, just a child."

"But what if I had done it?" There were tears welling up in the younger boy's eyes, but he was determined they wouldn't fall. 

"You've been with me all day," Mycroft pointed out and suddenly Sherlock was sobbing, sobbing so hard he nearly keeled over. Mycroft smiled sadly and scooped him up. He was incredibly light compared to every other 10 year old in his class, but for now that was fine. He leaned backwards against his brothers bedroom door and carried him over to the bed. 

"I- d-don't wanna sleep in here," he sniffled. 

"It's alright, 'Lock. We'll just get you into pyjamas and then you can come to my room."

He lowered him down and Sherlock burrowed into him as his bum routed the sheets. 

"I'm sorry, little brother. Stand there." He steadied him and tried to locate his night clothes. "Shirt off then Lockie."

He complied and peeled his shirt of throwing it in the hamper. 

"And the trousers."

Mycroft then helped him to step into his pyjama bottoms and buttoned up his night shirt. 

"What did you do with your slippers?" The boy sniffed and shrugged, rubbing his snotty nose into Mycroft's sleeve. He grimaced, but didn't say anything. He'd never seen him so upset. 

"You hid them under your duvet!" He rapped one foot and he lifted it. Mycroft slipped the crocodile slipper on with its big teeth at the front and then did the same with the other. 

When he stood back up again it was to find the younger boy sucking his thumb, something he only ever did when he needed comfort. He lifted him up again, more than willing to give it. Small arms wrapped around his neck and the thumb found its way back into his mouth. Mycroft ran his hand over the back of his head as he carried him through to his bedroom. 

"You lay down on your front, little one. I need to find my own pyjamas, ok?"

A small bundle of curls nodded in agreement and then he clambered onto Mycroft's bigger bed and ducked his head into the pillow. 

When the older brother had changed, he joined Sherlock and slid in underneath him. He always found a lot of pressure from a soft surface - such as a mattress - was always a good idea after a spanking like the one he'd received, although he had never had it quite this bad. He made himself comfy and Sherlock tucked into his side, his thumb still in his mouth and eyes closed. 

"Mother was really angry."

"She was," he agreed. 

"What broke?"

"The vase from her collection."

"I'm glad it broke. It was ugly."

"It was priceless."

"It's worthless now," Sherlock said smugly. 

"Don't let her hear you say that," Mycroft chuckled softly. 

"I don't care what mother thinks or father, for that matter. He shouldn't have made you cry."

Mycroft ran his hand through his brother's errant curls. "You know how he is when it comes to letting the family down. I let you down."

"No you didn't. Mother let us down."

The corner of Mycroft's mouth curled up slightly. 

"Go to sleep, Lockie."

The following morning, Mycroft awoke, more than aware his backside was throbbing on its own. He immediately looked down at his brother. He hadn't moved in the night and was still tucked into his side. He worried how he would feel when he awoke. 

He didn't have to wait long as Sherlock shifted beside him moaning softly. 

"'Lock?"

"Hmm."

"How you feeling?"

His eyes flickered up to his older brother who was looking down at him in concern 

"Sore."

He smiled. "I know, little one. Do you want to go back to sleep? Or shall we go to breakfast?"

He shook his head. "I don't want to see mother or father."

Mycroft could understand that. He, too, after thinking on it all night, had developed a more angry opinion on his parents. 

Downstairs Mr. and Mrs. Holmes sat at the dining table waiting for their sons to make an appearance. It was sometimes usual for Sherlock to remain upstairs, but Mycroft? He enjoyed spending time at the table. 

They both jumped slightly when Mrs. Hudson appeared at the door. 

"Mrs Holmes, about the vase…"

Mr. And Mrs. Holmes found Mycroft with a little bundle of Sherlock asleep in his arms. He had wrapped himself around him protectively. They both startled awake and fear chased itself off each face. Sherlock buried his head into his older brother's chest and an arm came up instinctively. 

Mrs. Holmes glanced at her husband and realised exactly what they had done, jumping to conclusions concerning their boys, and the cane after the brush wasn't nice. She knew it wasn't, but she had been angry. 

"Mycroft, Sherlock…" she started. She didn't like the way Sherlock appeared to be terrified, but she found herself feeling pride for her eldest who was doing a good job of comforting him. "Are you coming down for breakfast?" Sherlock didn't moved and Mycroft shook his head. 

"We're not hungry," he said simply. 

"Mycroft… I'm sorry, Mrs. Hudson explained."

"Mrs. Hudson broke it?" He asked incredulously. 

"No, the cleaner did. It's all muddled up."

"And in the middle of this 'muddle up' Sherlock got caned!" Mycroft snarled. 

Mrs. Holmes was taken aback by the discontent in her son's tone and then realised it wasn't just discontent, it was anger and protection too. Protection that she should have been feeling rather than being the cause of the need. Mr. Holmes rested his hand on his wife's shoulder. 

"Mycroft, I am also sorry. I punished you because you let down Sherlock when, in fact, you were the only one who hasn't let him down."

"You made him cry," Sherlock mumbled, gripping onto his brother tighter. 

"You're right, son, I did. For which I apologise."

"Shall we see about some soothing gel?" Mrs. Holmes offered stepping forward. She was most surprised when her youngest flinched and her eldest tightened his grip. 

A single tear appeared in her eye and she rushed out of the room. 

Neither of their boys spoke to them for three days. They both watched as Mycroft took care of his little brother, helping him to shower and dress. He even got the bus to go into town to buy some soothing cream, not for himself but for Sherlock. He would have got their driver to take him, but that would have meant speaking to father. The older boy had also resorted to taking Sherlock to the cafe up the street for meals and they both slept in Mycroft's room, the younger by curled up into his brother. 

Day four found Mrs. Holmes knocking on her eldest son's door with breakfast on a tray. She was aware they'd been sharing the same bed for a few nights so had enough for two. 

She pushed the door open to find the boys already up. Sherlock was sat at Mycroft's desk and they'd pulled his chair through so the older boy could help his little brother with his homework. Not that he partially needed help, but Sherlock refused to learn German. He hated it. They were also both due back at school in a few days, the Easter holidays almost over. 

"Boys, I've brought you some breakfast."

They both glanced up, startled slightly. 

"Thank you, Mother," they both said tersely. 

"And your allowance will be refunded from what you've spent at the cafe up the road."

Mycroft nodded once and went back to helping Sherlock. "Check the tense of number 3 again, 'Lock."

"Mycroft-"

Mycroft stood up and ruffled Sherlock's curls. "Be back in a minute, brother-mine."

He nodded briefly, not looking up. 

Mrs. Holmes stepped outside at her son's request. 

"I know you're sorry, Mother. I'm just struggling to forgive you. You were so angry and you didn't stop to listen. He's only 10 and today is the first day he has been able to sit without shifting around restlessly."

"What about you?"

"I don't care about me. He's a child! And you were far too harsh!"

She dropped her head. "I know, Mycroft. I know. You said you know I'm sorry…"

"Sherlock hasn't spoken about it. I try to get him to talk, but he won't answer. Like I said, he's a child."

"Can you-"

"No, I won't force him. He will talk when he's ready. He is no doubt struggling to process it and most of all he's my little brother. The brush or the cane will never go near him again. I will not allow it."

"Ok," she said softly. "Would you both at least attend lunch?"

He nodded once and then shut the door to find Sherlock crying. 

"What's the matter 'Lock?"

"Mother is still angry."

"No, she's ashamed."

"Do we forgive her then?"

"Of course you can forgive her."

"What about you?" 

He smiled softly and pulled him into his hip for a hug. "Maybe. Eventually. Now how are you doing?"

One thing was for certain, Mrs. Holmes would never be 'Mummy' again.


End file.
